What it takes for Palestinians to see their imprisoned relatives

Fatmeh lives in a village outside Hebron. On prison visit days, she has to take her two daughters out of bed early to catch the bus that leaves Hebron at 6am. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

Once a month, thousands of Palestinians make the long journey to various prisons in Israel to meet their detained family members.

"On those nights, I can hardly fall asleep. I constantly worry that I will forget something, the permit or my ID, and miss the visit," says Mona Daraghmeh, who lives in Tubas, a village in the occupied West Bank.

Though she can see her son for just 45 minutes, and only through a glass partition, missing the monthly prison visit is a terrifying prospect for 70-year-old Daraghmeh.

Her family tried to dissuade her from taking the 12-hour trip that includes hours of waiting at checkpoints and a rigorous search before entering the prison.

"We even tried to lie to her by saying she didn't have the permit, but it didn't help," says her daughter, Kheyreyeh.

For the rest of the month, Daraghmeh goes through old letters, photographs and books trying to fill the looming absence of her child.

More than 100,000 people from the occupied West Bank, Gaza and East Jerusalem take Red Cross buses every year to visit their relatives detained in Israel, a right granted to the detainees under international humanitarian laws.

This photo essay is provided by ICRC.

Palestinians in Hebron buy food and drinks before boarding the Red Cross bus for a long and exhausting day ahead. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

Relatives of detainees wait at a checkpoint. Palestinians need permits to enter Israel. On busy days like these, when hundreds of people are on their way to prisons, crossing a checkpoint may take several hours. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

Prison visits are physically and emotionally exhausting, especially for the elderly. Mona Daraghmeh, 70 suffers from high blood pressure and diabetes. Her family tried to dissuade her from going, but she wouldn’t give up the only opportunity she has every month to see her son. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

In between her visits to Israeli jails, Daraghmeh re-reads letters her son wrote to her from his detention. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

A Palestinian woman carrying photographs of their child to her detained husband. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"Every time I go to see my son, I can't help thinking this may be the last," says Kheiri Skafi. 76. Kheiri is on dialysis treatment and needs a special ambulance transfer to make the journey. A Palestinian ambulance takes him to the checkpoint, where he is picked up by an an Israeli one. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

The long trip to the prisons is particularly challenging for people with disabilities. Muhammad al-Hreimi, from Bethlehem, needs a special taxi to be able to visit his detained son. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"I brought our newborn daughter on one of the visits. I showed her to my husband through the glass. It was the only time in my life I saw him cry," says Umayma Sawalha, from Nablus. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

A bus with families of detainees leaving Ramallah. They will have to cross the checkpoint on foot and take an Israeli bus on the other side. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"I long for the day [of the visit] and feel empty afterwards. When the phone is disconnected, I knock on the window. I can't explain the feeling,” says Iman, from Hebron, on meeting her detained husband. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"I keep all his clothes, his letters, an old blanket," says Iman. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"When I started losing my eyesight, I didn't want to tell it to my son. I didn't want him to worry. I just pretended I could still see him when I went on the prison visit," says Um Nasser. Her daughter later told her detained brother about their mother's deteriorating eyesight. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"I try to squeeze so many things into those 45 minutes. I tell him everything that happened, how each of the kids is doing at school," says Maysoon Salmeh from Nablus. She has been taking care of her six children alone since her husband was detained. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]

"The most difficult thing for me is having to explain all this to my kids," says Sondos. [Alyona Synenko/ICRC]